


Howl

by stripped, tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Dominance, Biting, F/M, Werewolves, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stripped/pseuds/stripped, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lavender is almost lost to the Wolf, Bill finds that instinct tells him how to bring her back from the edge.</p><p>This was written for the kink_bingo community on Dreamwidth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howl

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are created and owned by JK Rowling; no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> [Sept 3, 2017] Once upon a time I had two completely separate identities online, for a variety of reasons, most of which had to do with needing a place where I could privately talk to the world. Except the private talking identity also became a fic writing identity, and yes, it's taken me this long to figure out that I can close out the private parts and link the fic parts to my usual self online. So hi. I'm also tryslora.

_My fingers claw your skin, try to tempt my way in_  
_You are the moon that makes the night for which I have to howl_  
_\- Florence & the Machine, “Howl”_

 

She feels when the moon rises, like a pricking under her skin, begging her to move, to run, to scream, to howl. She cannot resist, dropping to her knees, head thrown back as a mournful sound pours from her throat. Loud and sharp, it echoes in the tiny room, bounces off the walls like a hundred wolves voices calling back to her, and she shivers all over again.

She pushes herself to a crouch, leaping towards the door where she scrabbles against it with blood-tipped fingernails. It isn’t the first time she’s tried to dig her way out; it won’t be the last. Every time the moon calls, she tries to answer, and every time, _THEY_ keep her here. She howls her anger and her frustration, and she howls her retribution.

Let _THEM_ come to her. She will show them what it means to keep her here. And then she will run.

#

Bill sits quietly in the observation room, watching through the one-way window. His long hair falls across his face, covering the scars and the patches of three days’ beard growth. His hands are clasped tight together, elbows on his knees as he hunches forward. Every time Lavender opens her mouth, he winces, as if he can feel the unheard sound in his bones. He tries to ease his tension, rubbing at his own arms. Perhaps he can feel it, who knows. There’s never been anything like this before. He was unique, just a few years ago, and now there are two of them. Thank Merlin that Greyback is dead and there will hopefully never be another.

The door behind him opens and he turns in a crouch, expecting trouble. He finds ease slowly, stretching his lanky frame back to full height. “Finnigan,” he nods his hello.

“Weasley.” Finnigan moves straight to the window, pressing his hands against it, nose close as if he could push through it to the girl below. “Any change?”

“None since the cycle began, three days ago. It should be the last night.” Bill stands with his hands in the pockets of his duster, trying not to pace. Her urgency translates to him, and he finds his hard-fought calm wearing away. “Now that you’re here, I should go.”

“No.” When Finnigan turns, green eyes are pleading. “The only times she rests are when you’re here. They said she slept a little when you’re around, but all she does is pace and howl when you’re not. This far in, they’re pretty sure she won’t transform but still—” He hesitates, and there is naked fear in his gaze and in the scent of the air around him when he admits, “What if it doesn’t stop when the full moon is done? They don’t know. The only thing they have to compare her to is you.”

“And I was never this bad,” Bill finishes the thought for him. “I’m as out of my depth as they are, Finnigan. I couldn’t tell you what’s going on in Lavender’s mind, other than that the wolf has a hold on her. I can feel it, from her and from the moon outside. When it sets, she should begin to come back to herself, and to being the girl you know.”

“Knew,” Finnigan says softly, almost as if he doesn’t realize the word slips out. “And what if she doesn’t?”

Bill shakes his head. “Then you figure out how to go on. We’re less than a month past a war where we lost so much. Don’t you think that we’re all figuring out how to let go?” His brother is gone, after all, leaving a cavernous hole in the Weasley clan. Nothing would ever be the same. They had done so much, and borne so much throughout the war. Surely it is time for someone else to have something to bear?

He feels unheard sound shiver through him, and turns back to see Lavender pressed against the wall, howling as if she could see them beyond. Her head is back, pale skin of her throat bared. Bill growls softly at her seeming show of submission, at the soft skin shown. His fingers flex, teeth bared as his growl intensifies.

“What is it?” Finnigan asks.

Bill ignores him. “She’ll stop,” he says curtly, pulling the door open. “I’ll make sure of it.”

#

She snarls when the door opens, launching herself at the intruder. She catches him, and it surprises her to taste his blood on her tongue, teeth raking scrapes down his forearm. She lands on both feet, hands out, crouched and wary as he still comes at her. The door closes behind him, but that isn’t as important as the metallic tang in the air, the scent of _HIM_ as he comes closer. It is… familiar, even while it is strange. She sniffs the air, then stops moving away from him. Instead she stalks closer, inhaling roughly as she shoves her face in the crook of his neck. Her tongue darts out, tasting him, and she whimpers softly, the sound shifting to a sharp yip when she is yanked away.

His fingers twist in her hair, holding her up as one arm wraps around her. She cries out, howling her displeasure, trying to pull away, but he is stronger than she is as he holds her there, pulling her head to one side.

He deliberately sniffs her throat, tongue tasting the hollow just as she did to him. She shivers with the feel of it, conflicted by anger and need. She growls and snaps ineffectively at him, and in response, his teeth close over the vein in her neck.

She feels her heart pound. Teeth scrape along skin then hold, and she feels those sharp points just barely holding back.

If she moves, he could rip her throat out. She knows this, and she freezes, not sure what to do. Sense says to run. Instinct says to give in.

Sounds whisper around her, making little sense.  _Lavender. Pack. Let go._

She jerks against him, and his teeth tighten. She whimpers, pressing back. One hand presses against her soft belly, covering the scars there, one on her hip. He holds her securely, showing dominance. Alpha. Pack.

With a small cry, she gives in and goes limp in his arms.

#

Lavender comes back to herself curled in a corner with Bill Weasley’s arms around her. She can smell his scent and hers, mixed and feeling natural that way. She turns, curling into him, nuzzling his throat and making a soft contented noise.

“Moon’s down.” His voice is hoarse, as rough as her own throat feels. She looks at him. His thick hair hangs in a wild tangle around his face, and she can’t think she looks much better.

“I can tell,” she admits. “Is it over? This is the best I’ve felt since—” She can’t say _since the attack_. She’s never talked about it, not to the doctors, not to Seamus, not to anyone.

“It’s done.” He frames her face with large hands, and she turns, wanting to inhale that comforting scent of him again. Her hair falls, and he brushes it back, fingers tracing something on her neck. “You’ve bruised,” he says.

She remembers then, biting him, and him biting her back. Claiming her. Fresh blood rises to her face, warming her skin as she makes herself remember: he is married, and she has a boyfriend who has to be scared out of his mind right now. If he even still wants her. “Seamus?” she asks shakily.

Bill lets her hair fall to cover her bruising, hiding the imprint of his teeth in her skin. “Waiting for you. He loves you.”

“I know.” She can’t say more than that, because she loves him too. But there is this connection here and now between herself and Bill, and she doesn’t know what to do with that.

They untangle slowly, pushing to their feet before she falls back into his arms, winding herself around him, unable to let go. She kisses his throat, and whimpers when he responds by tugging her head to one side so he can trace his tongue over the marks he left, then set his teeth against them. She feels it keenly, both the pain from the bruise and the fresh scrape of his teeth, and it feels right.

“We’re pack,” he murmurs against her skin. “You need me, Lavender, you call. I will be here every full moon until you have this under control and are ready to leave St. Mungo’s.”

Shivering in his arms she accepts that, because it’s all she can have.

And when the door crashes open, she goes to Seamus willingly, letting him cradle her close and murmur words that don’t mean what they used to because he can never understand what lies between her and Bill.

Bill touches her one last time as he walks by, and Lavender is sure Seamus doesn’t notice. There is an unsaid pact between them. The moon will come again, and she will howl, and he will be there. She will offer her throat, and he will remind her that they are pack. And together they will howl.


End file.
